


In a Field of Bluebells

by laurpas



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, F/M, Smut, workin through those emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:42:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26515399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurpas/pseuds/laurpas
Summary: After the events of the end of DA2 Hawke struggles with her feelings towards Anders and what it means for their relationship.
Relationships: Anders/Female Hawke, Anders/Hawke (Dragon Age)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	In a Field of Bluebells

Anders wondered if, eventually, he would forget the sound of her voice. He hadn’t heard it in what felt like weeks, not at least since they had passed through the worst of the Vinmarks. 

At first she had spoken to him, short, grunted commands, but as they acclimated to being on the run she had spoken less and less until finally falling completely silent. She barely even looked at him anymore, only sparing the occasional glance to ensure that he was still trudging miserably along beside her.

He wondered if, eventually, she would be rid of him. It didn’t make sense to him that she would struggle as she did, abandoning her home, her title and her friends, going out into the unknown of the wilderness dragging the most wanted man in Thedas along behind her. If he thought that she still loved him, despite all logic, he could have made sense of her actions. But just as he had hidden large parts of himself from her, so she had become a stranger to him.

They settled down for the night amongst a copse of trees, away from any major roads or rivers. Where they were, exactly, he could not say although he had to assume that they were heading away from Starkhaven. He could not help but wonder if she thought to go to Nevarra and then on to Tevinter but whatever her plans Hawke kept her own counsel.

As had become their routine he began to build a small fire while she went out to hunt for their dinner, rabbits or some other sort of small game. At first it had just been rations coupled with river water, she was too paranoid for a fire, but as the weeks had dragged on Hawke had loosened some of her restrictions. They’d yet to encounter any pursuers, nor even see any sign of them, though Anders was certain that they had to be out there.

After the fire was started he moved back to their packs, undoing their bedrolls and setting them up. He hummed to himself, off key as he always was, and some time passed before he realized that Hawke was taking far longer than usual to come back. 

He froze, hands clenched in the fabric, his heart quickening. Had she finally decided to move on then? He couldn’t blame her, he was a wretched man-

But she wouldn’t have abandoned her bedroll or pack containing her supplies. She might hate him now but she was far too practical of a woman to have left in such a state. Meaning that she had to have run into some kind of trouble. He grasped his staff and stood up immediately, running off into the last direction that he could remember seeing her.

Though the light of the fire had been warm and comforting it became a distant memory as he plunged into the dark woods. Even after sending up a small magelight he still struggled, tripping over exposed roots and fighting off tree branches that kept trying to slap him in the face. 

“HAWKE!” He yelled, not even attempting to be quiet. Any half-decent tracker would have already been alerted by the sound of him crashing through the woods. “HAAWKE!”

He wasn’t ready to say goodbye. He thought he had been, as he had watched the Chantry burn. He had told her to leave him, would have stood quietly and allowed her to kill him. 

But this… Not like this. She was supposed to go on and live her life, whatever that meant. He couldn’t allow her to be hurt, not for his sake.

He burst out of the stand of trees he had run through, stopping just before a small stream only to see Hawke sitting cross legged on the other side, her head in her hands.

For a moment he was stunned into silence. He could see two dead rabbits lying to her right and on her other side lay her bow and arrow. What she had been doing he couldn’t say. It seemed as though she hadn’t been doing… Anything.

“Hawke?” He asked, voice tentative. “Did you… Lose track of time?”

She just stared up at him, her dark eyes unfathomable. He remembered that it had been days since they had last spoken to each other. 

When she said nothing he stepped back and looked away, clearing his throat awkwardly. 

“I- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to rush after you. Or do all that shouting. But you’d never been away from camp from that long and I thought- I thought maybe something had happened and…”

Still more silence. It was nearly unbearable. 

“And, well, obviously nothing happened. I’m sorry- I don’t know why I’m still talking- I’m… I’ll be going back to camp now.”

He turned around, shoulders slumped, as he began his walk back. Whatever relief he had felt upon seeing Hawke alive and whole had been dampened by the stark reminder of what their relationship had become. 

“Wait-” 

He froze, not trusting himself to turn around. Behind him he could hear the sound of Hawke rising to her feet and taking two tentative steps towards him.

Slowly he looked behind him, watching as her feet hit the border of the stream before stopping. Her voice was rough from disuse and he winced at the deep stab of pain in his belly upon hearing it, mixed with a thrill of desire. 

Maker, he loved her voice. He’d missed it so much.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “For worrying you. I… Know what you must have thought. When I didn’t come back to camp.”

Slowly he turned around to face her. 

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Hawke. I… Should have trusted that you would come back.” He smiled, though it felt foreign to him. 

To his alarm her eyes filled with tears and he watched as she blinked them away rapidly. His chest wrenched in pain as he realized that this was his fault, and he wondered how many tears she had shed over him. Was that what she had been doing, sitting at the side of the stream? He suddenly felt very cruel to have interrupted her. 

“I almost didn’t,” she whispered, looking away from him. “I almost…” She swallowed. “I thought about it. I seriously did. This is no way to be, Anders.” She motioned between them, the gap so unbearably wide.

“You deserve to be happy,” Anders said, trying desperately to keep his composure. “You deserve nothing less. I wouldn’t want anything less for you.”

“Then why did you do it?” She exploded, her grief and rage palpable, “Why Anders?”

“Because- Because it was the right thing! Or maybe it wasn’t but it was the only thing- I had no choice! Meredith-”

“That’s not what I’m talking about! Or at least not- That’s not-” She threw up her hands in frustration and then turned around, stomping away. “Go on and go back to camp!” She yelled, “I’m not talking about this with you, I’m not-” She stopped, and he listened as she gasped, watched her press her hand to her chest as if it could release the pain that had settled there, that _he_ had put there. “I’m not ready,” she said, and he thought he could hear the culmination of all that he had done to her. Not just the Chantry, but all ten years of their hurt and their love. 

“I’m not ready to talk about this Anders. So just go back to camp and leave me the _fuck_ alone.” He watched as her shoulders heaved, listened to the shuddering of her breath. And when he looked down he could still see the little stream, burbling merrily along between them.

He turned and he left.

***

The next few days passed in silence, but he thought that yelling at him might have actually done her some good. It might even have done him some good. He’d assumed that she had been dragging him along out of some sense of duty, but that clearly wasn’t the case. And while he knew that she was still angry at him there was also the understanding that somewhere, beneath all of her rage and pain, her love for him remained.

She had told him that she wasn’t ready but he didn’t mind. He would wait for her. He could be patient. 

At night they resumed their rituals and while Anders would watch her leave to hunt with some trepidation Hawke always made sure to return in a timely manner. They would lay their bedrolls next to each other and although they never touched they were close enough that Anders could feel the heat of her body next to him. Sometimes when she was asleep he would watch her, thinking of their life in their Kirkwall and what might come now, or simply not thinking at all.

As he lay beside her that night, watching the stars and listening to the steady sound of her breathing, he felt something nudge against his side and looked down to see that she had moved closer in her sleep. Her head rested against the side of his chest in one moment and then, in the next, he watched as she nuzzled closer to him.

He became very still, not wanting to wake her but also not sure of what to do. She would hate herself if she knew what she was doing. He was certain of it. But he also couldn’t bear to put more space between them then there already was.

Anders forced himself to look back up at the sky, to focus on the way the stars twinkled and shimmered, and not on the woman lying against him. He tried to remember any constellations he’d been taught as a boy but the only one he could remember was The Hunter and it wasn’t in season right now anyway. The Circle, of course, had done no education of the sort. What was the point, when you lived in a prison your whole life, to wonder about something you would never be able to see?

Next to him Hawke made a noise and when he looked down at her again he could see that her eyes were open and she was staring up at him. He went cold, waiting for her to rip him apart.

Instead she just sighed, throwing her arm around his waist and turning her face into chest. 

“The nights have gotten colder,” she muttered, “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Well, so long as it’s to prevent freezing. Although, should the issue arise, I am in a good position to help you keep your fingers and toes. It wouldn’t be the first case of gangrene I’ve had to deal with.” 

She huffed a laugh and when she smiled up at him he felt all of his thoughts die away. It was rare for him to be speechless but when she looked at him like that, well, he couldn’t think of a thing to say. 

“Thank you for the offer. Should my fingers and toes start to curl up and turn black I’ll make sure to let you know.”

“Of course,” he said, his brain still a little wobbly, “Of course.”

And then he laid his head back down and he looked up at the stars, feeling Hawke settle beside him again. They were beautiful, the stars, but it suddenly made him want to weep, that they all remained out of arm's reach from one another. How tragic, the possibility of never knowing the touch of another.

He could feel her fall asleep next to him, could feel as her muscles unknotted and relaxed. Her breathing slowed and deepened, her arm across his waist now a leaden weight. But he didn’t mind any discomfort, so long as she kept herself pressed against him. So long as she continued to reach towards him.

***

For several days they’d creeped along the edges of civilization, alert to any possibility of danger or being found. It was a necessary evil- They had only been able to leave Kirkwall with so much and they were both desperate to eat something that was not game meat or foraged berries. 

Eventually Hawke had put him in a cave several miles from the town, sternly telling him to stay put. If she failed to return after two full days he was to leave immediately but he was _not_ to go looking for her. No matter what. 

And although she didn’t really believe him when he agreed to her terms still she turned around and began making her way back to town. She’d tried to clean up as much as she could but as she stepped onto one of the small dirt roads leading into town she was still wildly self-conscious about how she looked. And while part of it was concern over being noticed she also had to admit that a part of it was vanity. 

As the Champion she’d held herself to a certain standard of grooming. And while she hadn’t thought of herself as a beautiful woman still she’d been proud of what she’d seen when she looked in the mirror. A sort of fondness. 

That was all gone now, of course. She reminded herself that she’d survived worse but it was still hard not to cringe when she thought of what she’d seen, staring down into a pond they’d found.

Her hair had grown a little wild and scraggly and it was dull from lack of washing. Her skin looked oily and her clothing, though they’d made a point to wash frequently, was clearly soiled and becoming more threadbare with each day. If she was lucky the people of the town would think her some sad straggler, perhaps a refugee from the chaos further south. If she was unlucky they would find it suspicious that a woman like that still carried a fair amount of coin with her and might talk.

But as she began to walk around town she noticed that she was not the only suffering from a lack of hygiene. Most of the people around her, in fact, looked bedraggled and downtrodden. Maybe it wasn’t spending a lot of coin that would get her in trouble but rather buying up soap and a comb. 

As she passed by a woman seated against a building, begging, she mentally chastised herself. Life was hard, and it was cruel to mock those who wore the signs of it. Reaching around in her pockets she found a couple coppers and tossed it into the upturned hat laying in front of the woman before quickly scurrying on. 

After buying a small amount of supplies from several different vendors she began to make her way back to the cave, dreaming of washing up not just in a cold stream somewhere but of washing up in a cold stream with _soap_. She couldn’t imagine how good it would feel to finally have something to cut through the dirt and sweat on her skin. 

When she arrived at the mouth of the cave she stopped for a moment, unable to see Anders. For a moment She felt herself tense, only to relax when the black emptiness of the cavern melted away and she saw him standing in the middle, looking much the same as he had when she had left him. There he was, she thought to herself, safe and sound and whole. She hadn’t realized how much she had been afraid of leaving him until the moment she had returned. 

“Thought I would put up a small illusion,” he said, “Make it harder to find me if someone _other_ than you decided to come and say hello.”

She nodded, and then, unable to vocalize any of what she was feeling, said, “I got some soap. Maybe you’d like to wash up.” She rifled around in the bag she had used to carry some of the supplies she’d bought and, once she found a small cake of soap, tossed it to him.

“Uh- Okay.” He said, catching it. “Do you want help setting up dinner?”

“No, no,” she said, quickly walking past him. She set down the supplies and began working through them, making sure to keep her back turned to him so that he couldn’t see her expression. “Go on, I’ll take a trip down to the river after you.”

“Alright.” He said, still not moving. She knew that he was aware of her mood and wanted to say something and was ridiculously relieved when instead he turned away and left the cave. 

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Maybe trying to pretend that everything was fine wasn’t exactly the way to go about things. It was a survival strategy that had done her well in Kirkwall- There was too much horror, too much suffering and if she had permitted herself to feel any of it it would have swallowed her like a black pit- But with Anders… 

But she still wasn’t ready. It wasn’t just the knowledge that he had been lying to her for years, using her to achieve his own means, and damn the cost to their relationship. It wasn’t just the realization of how far he’d been willing to go for his cause, of how eager he was to throw his own life away, as if she didn’t need him. 

She remembered him standing in front of her, his eyes dull and nearly already lifeless. She remembered him holding the knife out to her, giving her permission to end him. He had had absolutely no expectation that she would spare him, let alone defend him. And she thought that that was what had hurt the most. 

How had it gone so wrong? How had she been so blind? Oh, she knew that he struggled, with his cause, with his feelings of worth, and with Justice. But it felt as though they’d both been in completely different relationships. 

She had loved him, with all of her heart, in a way that she had so rarely allowed herself to love. Everyone she had ever cared for had walked away or left her and so she had hardened herself over the years in order to survive. But he had wedged his way in and, for years, she had been glad of it. He had brought her so much joy and comfort. Even after her mother’s death, when she should have been alone, he had remained at her side. 

Now she wondered how much of it had been an act. She’d been eager to help him, had swallowed his excuses and his misdirections easily. Because she trusted him. She had _trusted_ him. 

She sat back for a moment, working to keep her breathing under control. She’d known that something was going on but she’d never thought that his lie could be so big or so devastating. She tried to lean forward, to go back to organizing the supplies she’d bought but she couldn’t get her hands to stop shaking- _she_ couldn’t stop shaking and was she crying again? She thought she’d gotten that under control-

She stood up, ashamed by the heaving whine of pain that escaped her. She needed to get out, to get away, to distract herself. For a moment she worried about letting Anders come back to an empty cave but she realized she couldn’t let him see her in this state, not again, and not so soon. 

Hawke made it to the mouth of the cave, took a shaky breath, and then left.

***

She leaned slightly over the pond, staring at her appearance in grim determination. She didn’t know how long it’d been since they had left Kirkwall, several weeks at least, and Hawke had decided that it was finally time to cut her hair back. She intended to cut it as short as possible but the only tool she had to use was a knife and she was just a little nervous doing it herself.

Though she had thought about asking Anders she had quickly nixed the idea. It was one thing to sleep against him to ward off the cold, and another to allow him to get so close in their waking hours. No, she could do this by herself. She _would_ do this by herself. 

She grasped one lank of hair, holding it against the gleaming edge of the blade. With a swift upstroke she cut through it, taking off several inches. 

“Want any help?” It was a good thing that the hand holding the knife was far away from her face because she jumped when she heard the voice behind her.

“No!” She yelped, frowning slightly, “I can do this myself.”

Anders was leaning against a tree, watching her with an arched eyebrow, arms folded against his chest. It struck something inside of her, to see him looking so laidback.

“Is that why it looks like a demented four year old took a saw to your hair?”

Her jaw dropped open and she surprised herself by… Laughing.

“You!” She started, “I can’t believe the mouth on you.” She turned away, hunching her shoulders, but still laughing a little. After a moment she held her hand out, the hilt of the knife out for Anders to grasp. If it felt reminiscent of anything neither of them said so.

He moved forward, grasping the knife and then settling behind her, humming a little.

“How short do you want it? Shoulder? Page boy?”

“As close to the skull as you can get it,” she replied airily, trying to ignore how it felt to have Anders so close to her again. She could smell him, could feel the heat radiating off of his body. Hawke remembered how easy it had been, once, to be close to that body, to lose herself inside of it.

It had been so good, what they had had together.

“Alright,” he replied, and then he moved forward, grasping a length of hair at the back. He lifted it and she was struck by visions of him pulling her hair like a leash. She remembered the feel of his hand grasping at the base of her skull and yanking back, harshly, forcing her to look up at him.

She did not shiver, or make any noise. This was not something to be thought about, not right now when things were so terribly complicated.

The hair came off quickly, Anders cutting it away in short, efficient strokes. The back was mostly done when he leaned forward to take one of the front sections of her hair in his hand. His chest was nearly against her back, barely any space between them. One of the buckles in the front of his robes pressed against her back and she bit down on her bottom lip to distract herself.

She thought of biting her lip when she looked at him, lying across her bed, _their_ bed, the red of the comforter contrasting with the paleness of his skin…

“This might work better if you turn around,” his words jerked her out of her half memory, half fantasy though even then she found them unintentionally suggestive. 

“I can handle the rest-” She started to protest , hand beginning to reach for the knife. She wanted to press closer to him, even as she felt the repulsion, bitter like the taste of metal, well up inside of her. 

“It’s just a few quick strokes,” he replied, “I’ll be done quickly.” He looked down at her, scooting back slightly to give her room to turn. 

Finally she did, her head hung so that her expression was partly veiled. Her heart beat quickly as he moved forward on his knees again, taking a length of hair towards the front of her head and slicing it away. 

“Well,” he said, “It won’t get you any invitations to the ball, but I think that this will be perfectly serviceable.” He put the knife down and then put a hand under her chin, tilting her head up to look at him.

Hawke felt the point where he touched her acutely, felt the desire inside of her sharpen and then twist painfully, as though he’d taken the knife she’d given him and cut her with it instead of her hair. On instinct she grasped onto the front of his coat, clenching it in her fist and pulling, and watched as his mouth parted slightly in surprise.

“Anders,” she rasped, grasping his shoulder with her other hands and digging her fingers in, not enough to hurt but just enough to entice. She watched him swallow, watched as his face turned slightly pink. But even then his eyes narrowed in confusion, the boundaries of their relationship no longer clear as they had once been.

Still he did not move his hand away from her chin. He did not grip it and he did not move her any more than he already had. But it remained, that small spark of warmth like flint hitting steel, making her aware of how easily she could close the gap between them, of how she could just lean forward and maybe, maybe things would go back to how they had been-

Hawke barely realized she’d moved until she felt his chest press against her, felt the soft puff of his breath on her face. She could kiss him, and she knew what would follow, if she did. Her self control was still hanging on by a thread but if she did this it would snap and she would be lost, utterly. 

“I can’t,” she groaned, and was alarmed to feel tears in her eyes. “Anders, I can’t-”

He barely moved, holding his body stiff. “You don’t have to,” he said, “We can- This is your call-”

“That’s not what I mean,” she groaned, dropping her head and pushing it against his chest, feeling herself slide down slightly. “You did this,” she sobbed, “You ruined us- You betrayed us-”

She felt arms move around her body, tentative at first and then stronger when she did not resist.

“You can hate me,” she heard Anders try to say as calmly as he could, “I wouldn’t blame you-”

“I don’t _hate_ you!” And this time she could not stop the tears, feeling them slide down her cheeks and shame bloom inside her like some ugly flower. “I _wish_ I could hate you. It would- It would be so much easier if that was all- But I don’t.”

“Ah,” Anders said, “I think I understand.”

She half-growled, rearing her head up to glare at him. “Do you? Have you ever had someone betray you, as you have betrayed me? Have you ever had someone think so little of you, that they thought you capable of cold blooded murder? When you handed that knife to me- When you told me to kill you-”

His eyes looked hollow, half-dead, but the cage of his arms remained strong. He said nothing, his lips pressed into a thin line as she continued.

“I thought we were partners- I thought we could trust each other-” She gasped desperately for air, “I would have helped you-”

His eyes narrowed, “I couldn’t endanger you like that-”

“Oh,” she tried to laugh and just ended up choking on the bitterness at the back of her throat, “Because I led such a sheltered life before this-”

“You know what I mean,” he said, “I could not let the Chantry believe that you were involved-”

“But you still chose to live with me and _fuck_ me-” She snarled, even as she continued to grasp onto his coat like she might drown without it, without him.

“I wasn’t-” She watched as his face turned pale. “Hawke…” His voice had dropped to a whisper and he just looked down at her for a long moment. “That wasn’t just… ‘Sex’ to me. You don’t think… You don’t really believe that, do you?”

They both stared at each other for a long moment. The viper inside of Hawke wanted her to say ‘Yes,’ wanted to strike and strike, until she could make Anders bleed.

“No,” she finally whispered. “I don’t really believe that.” She looked down between them, her brows furrowed. For a brief moment she loosened her hold on his coat, only to wrap her arms around his waist and bury her face in his jacket.

“Hawke…” Anders started, “I did not do the things I did thoughtlessly. I know that I’ve hurt you, badly. I’m not sure that I still deserve you, if I ever did. But… I can’t let you believe that I would be so intentionally cruel to you. I love you more than… More than anything else in this world.”

“‘Intentionally,’” Hawke muttered into his coat, “It wasn’t intentional but Maker was it still cruel.”

“I know,” Anders said, squeezing her tighter to him. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. The things I’ve done… The people I’ve killed…” He grew quiet and for a long moment they sat there together in silence, clinging to each other. 

“Anders,” Hawke said, her voice still rough from her crying earlier, “I don’t want to keep on like this.” She felt Anders tense against her and quickly kept talking, “But you must be honest with me, in order for me to forgive you. I can’t live the rest of my life wondering what great, terrible secret you might be keeping from me.” She looked up at him, expression very serious. “From now on, no matter what, you have to be honest with me. Not just honest but- You have to let me in. _Truly_ let me in.”

She watched his face, terrified that he would tell her that it was too much, that he could not agree to such terms. It would be over then, no matter how much she might have fought against it. There was no coming back from what had happened, not if Anders was unwilling to change. 

“The idea of love without conditions… It wasn’t anything I was ever supposed to have,” he said quietly. “But then, so much of what you’ve done seemed impossible.” The edge of his mouth quirked up into a little smile and Hawke felt her breath catch. 

Carefully she moved her head down, trying to slow the incessant beat of her heart, the burning of her body. It was too soon for any of this, but still she ached for him, could not help but think of how easy it could be between them again. 

(It wouldn’t, no matter the little lies her body was telling her but oh, how she wanted to believe.)

Slowly Hawke moved away, sliding her hands down and breaking out of his embrace. Maybe soon, or maybe later. But not now, not yet.

***

Perhaps it was moving farther North or perhaps it was the change of the seasons, but as time went on the air grew noticeably warmer. Though they still lay together at night neither of them pretended it was for the sake of warmth. Some nights they didn’t even need a fire to stay warm, though the temperature still dipped down on occasion.

As they traveled Anders noticed that many of the trees around them had begun to develop buds and every one in a while he would catch sight of flowers blossoming. In the branches above them birds twittered and he was struck by the fact that, all around them, the earth was coming back to life.

It was a strange comfort to know that the cycle he had spent so many of his boyhood watching had continued on in his absence. In the Circle he had been completely cut off from it and in Kirkwall he had had little cause to experience nature. All these years, decades really, later and still some things had not changed. Winter always melted away, and Spring always returned.

That morning as they walked through a small grove of trees he saw flashes of blues peeking through some of the trunks and idly he wondered if they’d been traveling long enough that it was now bluebell season. 

“Hawke,” he asked, “Is it possible that it’s already Cloudreach?”

“Hm, I don’t know,” she said, “I hadn’t really been keeping track of the days. It certainly feels like it’s been growing warmer though.”

“Yes.” He paused, giving her a quick, speculative look. “We’re not on any kind of schedule then, I take it?”

Hawke looked back at him, one eyebrow raised in confusion. “No..?”

“Good,” he said, shooting her a quick grin and grasping her hand, “I want to show you something then.”

He began to tug her back towards where he had seen the blue first and she followed him easily.

“Should I ask?” She sounded amused and when she squeezed his hand lightly he felt a thrill.

“It’ll make more sense once I show you,” he replied. “Come on.”

He tugged her through the last of the trees, stepping to the edge of a clearing covered in bluebells in full bloom. For a moment Hawke blinked, at first thinking it was some strange body of water. Even the way that the wind rustled the mass of petals, causing them to bounce and sway, was reminiscent of a breeze rippling across the surface of a lake.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Anders said softly, “It was one of my favorite parts of spring- We had a meadow a short walk from the farmstead and I remember making the trek up there whenever I was finally free from my chores. It was so comforting to sit and watch them. Sometimes I’d lie down amongst the flowers and imagine that I was floating on my back in the lake.”

“I… Would like that,” Hawke said after a long moment of silence. “To just lie down amongst the flowers. For a little while.” 

He looked down at her and saw the faraway expression on her face, felt his heart catch at how beautiful she was. Perhaps things were not so irreparable, if they could still do something like this.

Squeezing her hand he led her deeper into the field, the flowers just reaching above their ankles, tickling them. When they’d gotten to the middle he knelt down and she followed him, both of them lying down next to each other.

Above them clouds, white and fragile looking, passed by. Anders thought about playing a game of “guess the shape” with Hawke but when he turned to look down at her he stopped. She looked so open and relaxed, so at peace. It was difficult to remember the last time that he had seen her look like this.

Slowly she turned her head to look up at him and he watched her expression soften into something like affection. He _could_ remember the last time that she’d looked at him like that and it hurt to realize just how long it had been.

“Thank you for showing me this, Anders,” she said quietly, not turning away. “It is beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful,” he blurted out, even though he hadn’t intended to. Still the corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled and laughed softly.

“Thank you, you’re not so bad yourself.”

He smiled at her and she was still smiling at him and the sun was shining overhead and everything was so lovely in that moment-

Who leaned forward first was impossible to determine and, in the end, mattered little. Suddenly they were both against each other, kissing, and what might have been soft and sweet quickly changed to something else entirely.

She grasped the back of his hair, pulling slightly as she wrapped one leg around his side and in one swift motion had him on his back with her leaning over him.

He gasped as she pulled harder and leaned down to bite his bottom lip, pulling it slightly before releasing it. 

“You,” he whispered, ragged, and grasped the front of her coat to drag her closer, bucking his hips up to grind against her pelvis. 

She could feel how hard he already was and moaned into his mouth, then hissed as he turned his face in and bit down on the juncture of her shoulder and neck.

Together they worked to get her jacket off, undoing clasps and then shoving it off of her shoulders, letting it land in a messy heap beside them. Anders reached up, grasping her breast, just barely able to see the imprint of her nipple through the linen fabric of her shirt. He ran a thumb over it and when she whined bit down softly, teasing her.

“Get out of your shirt, _now_ ,” her tone brooked no argument, not that he felt like putting any up. As he wiggled out of his coat and shirt she pulled hers off and nearly snapped her breast band in her haste to remove it.

They reached for each other again, arms tangling, fingernails scraping, then digging in, holding tight. His hand found her breast, squeezing, and when Hawke growled, “ _Harder,_ ” he obeyed, doing his best to leave bruises, something to look back on and remember him by.

Again their lips met, both of them huffing and gasping against the other. Anders swiped his tongue over her bottom lip and Hawke pushed her tongue into his mouth, the two of them tangling. 

Anders groaned and then, with some effort, moved his hips and rolled Hawke onto her back. She looked up at him, moving up onto her elbows and looking defiant before it softened and she laid back.

He inhaled deeply and then moved down, his lips brushing against her clavicle, her sternum, down to where her ribs ended and her abdomen began. He loved feeling the softness there, rubbed his beard against it and though it lacked the sharpness his stubble had had, still Hawke moved and whispered something quietly.

The button on her pants popped open easily and together they slid them off, adding to the pile carelessly. She spread her legs, like a hostess inviting her guests to a feast and he indulged. 

He moved forward on his elbows, opening her further, and moved his head down. She leaned her head back, groaning softly and used one hand to spread herself open. 

“Hawke,” he whispered her name like a prayer and then moved forward, running his tongue along her slit before making his way up to the apex and circling around her clit. He pursed his lips, sucking hard and she rocked her hips forward, encouraging.

Anders continued to suck on her clit, alternating his motions with a broad sweep of his tongue, then pointed, then back to sucking. He felt her thighs tense, trying to resist the urge to crush him, and in response he grasped one of them and hauled them closer. He wanted to be enveloped by her, by her smell and taste. He wanted her to ride his face and crush him between her thighs so that he could never escape. 

He chanced a glance upwards and saw her watching him, her eyes half open and dark. Her hair was sticking up slightly from where they had been rolling around and he felt a wave of tenderness and fierce desire wash over him. As he observed her she brought her free hand up to her mouth, wrapping her tongue around two of her fingers and sucking on them before she moved it down to play with one of her nipples.

‘Oh Maker’ he might have muttered, had his mouth not been full. But instead what he did was turn down again. This time he kept a steady rhythm with his tongue, no longer content to tease her. One of his hands moved up, massaging the outside of her labia and spreading around the wetness that he found there. She was so wet, so ready for him and even without being touched he was hard enough that he could have fucked her right then and there.

But he wasn’t done with this, not quite yet. The hand that had been massaging her moved forward, penetrating her with two fingers. He felt her clench around him and she let out a small needy whine, begging for more.

With what had to have been the last of his patience he thrust into her with her both fingers, slow and steady, feeling her relax and open even as she also contracted down on his fingers in a desperate attempt for more friction. He knew that the slow pace would drive her crazy but he just continued, only adding a third finger when she had begun to thrash her head back and forth in her frustration.

“More,” she grunted, half-way between ordering and begging. “ _More_ ,” and this time, this time was definitely pleading. 

He could feel her clit almost throbbing beneath his mouth, could feel the little twitches and tremors running beneath the skin of her legs and thighs. Above him she lay panting, her face slightly red, sharply twisting her nipples in a desperate attempt to trip herself over the edge, to get relief.

Slowly Anders inserted a fourth finger and then he watched as she came apart beneath him. Her back arched and her mouth opened, an “Oh-” that became a strangled cry that became a scream she was now powerless to stop. Her body shook beneath him and he could feel her clamped so hard around him he was distantly afraid of her injuring his hand. 

It seemed to go on forever, so long as he kept his tongue moving on her clit, before finally she gasped, “I can’t- Sensitive- I can’t-” and he stopped.

For a long moment they both lay there. Hawke was staring wordlessly up at the sky before finally she looked down at him.

“Anders,” she said, her voice low and rough, “You have ten seconds to remove your pants and get inside of me or else I’ll ruin the only pair of trousers you have left.”

He could have responded with a snappy reply but instead he ripped his pants off, nearly doing what Hawke had threatened in the process, and moved up her body, settling between her open thighs.

Rubbing his mouth against his arm he turned back to her, only for her to reach up and tangle both hands in his hair, pulling his head down and giving him a bruising kiss. She could taste herself on him and it caused her to flush again, to entangle her legs with his and squeeze tightly, the only way she could express what she was feeling at the moment.

“Inside,” she demanded, and Anders chuckled a little, then groaned as his cock rubbed against her pelvis, feeling how wet she was. 

“Yes,” he breathed, pushing against her. There was the first, initial resistance and then he was sliding entirely inside her, helped on by how wet she was. Below him Hawke groaned and then hitched her hips up higher so that she was almost folded in half beneath him.

Normally he might have teased her more but as he began to pull out he felt Hawke’s legs tighten around him, felt her fingers digging into his arms and when he looked down at her face again he saw something far more complex than he’d thought to.

Though she seemed just as lost in the haze of desire as he was, he also saw something like fear, or perhaps despair. He watched, cold dread trickling down his spine, as tears sprang to her eyes and she clenched her jaw.

“Hawke…” He said, trying to pull out further despite how she clung to him. He couldn’t hurt her- This wasn’t-

“I need you to stay inside,” she gasped, then bit down on her lip, not from lust but in an attempt to keep herself under control. “Anders, I need-” She stopped, her mouth working silently. 

“You don’t understand,” she said and he leaned down and pressed his forehead against her, thinking that perhaps he did.

“I’m not leaving,” he said quietly, “Whatever you need…” She wrapped both arms around him, pulling him so that they were as close as they could possibly be, and buried her face in his neck. 

“This,” she said, “Just keep going. Ignore me. Just- Womanly things.” 

She shuddered beneath him and though he was hesitant he began thrusting again, slowly, waiting for her to stop him or decide that this was too much, too soon, after everything. Even though he knew he wasn’t thinking particularly clearly it occurred to him that maybe Hawke hadn’t been ready for them to go back to this.

“Hawke-” he started, only for her to interrupt him.

“I missed it so much,” she whispered and he realized he could feel some wetness, her tears then, against his shoulder. “I missed you so much. I definitely even realize until you- Until we were together like this again-” 

“It’s okay,” he soothed, feeling some part of him relax. He’d become fairly immune to weeping over the years as a healer, but this was something entirely different. “It’s okay to cry.”

“It’s stupid,” she muttered in response but her breath had stopped hitching and even as he felt her trying to move closer again the tenseness in her muscles seemed to have left somewhat. “I’m-”

“Stop,” he said, quietly, softly. “You are strong, and very brave and beautiful and I love you, and if you continue to insult the woman I love I will have to challenge you to a duel for the sake of her honor.”

She laughed though it was a little watery. And then, as if it were some great secret, whispered, “I love you.”

He sighed softly, slowly. He hadn’t appreciated until then how much he’d needed to hear her say it. 

“Now,” she said, finally turning her face up to look at him again. “You can pick up the pace.” Her face was red and blotchy, her eyelids slightly swollen, but still he thought her the most beautiful woman in the world. She smiled, as she had smiled when they were laying together earlier. 

“Yes ma’am,” he replied with a smirk and this time when he thrust into her again it was harder, faster. She gasped a little but then squeezed down on him in encouragement. He took one of her legs, pushing it against her body, and began to move again, setting a hard pace. Beneath him Hawke groaned, her fingers digging slightly into his arm each time he thrust into her. 

“Maker, Hawke,” he groaned, feeling himself getting closer and closer. It was almost too much, but she encouraged him on, clenching her thighs against him and dragging him closer to her body once more.

“That’s it,” she hissed, “Just keeping fucking me like that, my love,” she bit down on his ear lobe gently, pulling it before kissing his shoulder and then needling the skin there with her teeth. Her nails dug into his back, more to warn than to cause any injury, and she groaned as he almost slammed against her. Just as she wanted to bruise him, so she wanted to be marked in return, to imprint the memory of this on her body.

“So close, so close,” she muttered, whether for him or her, it seemed not to matter. Once she had angled her hips up again she had felt him begin to go deeper, felt him brush against her in a way that made her see stars behind her eyes. 

Where her orgasm before had been simple, this time it seemed to come from deeper within. It was almost terrifying in how it threatened to overwhelm her but when Anders opened his mouth to yell she let herself be lost to the abyss that was promised. 

She lunged up, pressing her mouth against his, catching his scream even as she felt herself come apart again. Hawke clung to him, the only solid object close enough for her to grab onto.

Afterwards they both lay together, panting hard. Anders was completely slumped over her, not that she particularly minded, and she found herself running a soothing hand over his back. At some point she had started to cry again though she was too lax to feel as much shame over it as she had before.

“I love you,” Anders muttered, still mostly breathless. 

“I love you too,” she replied. He shifted between her legs and although she squeezed on instinct, wanting to keep him inside her for just a moment longer, she eventually relented. After all, he quickly adjusted himself so that he could hold her again, and it was a stark reminder that he was not leaving, that they still had this moment to themselves. 

“You said you’d come to fields like this as a kid, but I hope I’m the first girl you’ve done this with,” Hawke joked weakly.

“Well, given that I was sent to the Circle at thirteen yes, yes you are the first girl I’ve done this with.” He snorted at the thought of himself at twelve years old, flirting with girls by day and going to sleep with his mother's pillow by night.

“I’m honored,” Hawke muttered, wry though she was also a little sleepy. “Also, I bet that my entire back side is covered in dirt.”

“It’s dry, it’ll brush off,” Anders replied. “But thank you for taking one for the team and being on bottom.”

She nudged his shoulder playfully before laying back down and sighing, shutting her eyes.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” she murmured. “When I was on my back and I looked up at you I…”

She paused and he waited for her to gather her thoughts. 

“It’s so rare, what we have,” she said, her voice achingly small. “For us to have found each other, to love each other, as we do. So few get to be as lucky as us.”

And he’d almost ruined it. He opened his mouth to apologize once more but Hawke put a finger to his mouth, shushing him. 

“It was overwhelming. Almost too much. It’s terrifying to love something that fiercely. The capacity for pain is… It’s so great.

“But I think that we’ll be okay, in the end. I know we will.”

He looked down at her and he moved a hand to the side of her face, holding it there.

“We will Hawke. I promise.”

She smiled up at him, and he knew it all to be true. 

**Author's Note:**

> My granny always told me, "Laurpas, if you're going to have sex in the woods you better bring a blanket, because otherwise you're going to get pine needles on your ass."  
> Were it that my poor Hawke had a grandmother as concerned for her safety as I did.


End file.
